Resident Evil 4: Aftershock
by 1wingangel
Summary: You and Leon have left Spain, but trouble has followed you home. And he is coming for you. Companion to "Resident Evil 4: Real Life Edition." Rated M for violence, gore, and language.
1. Chapter 1: Homecoming

_Chapter 1: Homecoming_

**Hello. I hope that you enjoy this sequel to "Resident Evil 4: Real Life Edition." This has been in progress since before RE4:RLE was finished, and is still being written today. If you are here because you read its predecessor, thank you very much for sticking with Nicole and Leon. They appreciate your loyalty and support. So do I. Their adventures have had a place in my heart for several years, and hopefully you've also enjoyed them. This new adventure has been a very, very long time coming. Let's get to it. ~1wingangel  
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><p>Your heart races as clouds pass by and appear above you. A bright blue sky and golden sunlight decorate the horizon as deep green mountains fade into view. You can't help but smile; this is your first view of the United States of America in three days.<p>

Your short excursion to Spain was hardly a vacation, unless being taken there involuntarily and given an intimate tour of the deeply disturbed backwoods culture is part of some travel experience you don't know about. But you _did_ acquire some unique souvenirs. You have plenty of new scars, namely a long line down your calf muscle, and a pair of shoes that could be easily summarized as "vintage." And of course, there is the necklace… You trace your fingers along the delicate curvatures of each individual pink Spinel that the merchant had carved and then imparted to you. You still can't reason why he simply gave it away. Although crude, it's a lovely necklace. Perhaps he pitied the tiny high school girl who had cheated death against the sickening demons under Osmund Saddler.

Saddler…you certainly don't want to think about the power-hungry cult leader who was solely responsible for your suffering in Spain. You remind yourself that he was obliterated into dust by a rocket-propelled grenade courtesy of your friend and hero, Leon.

Leon Scott Kennedy. You smile at him, although he is fast asleep. Even a few days ago, you would never have imagined that any fictitious character could actually exist. And yet a hero of the Resident Evil franchise is sitting across from you, his fair blonde hair falling over his eyes, very tangible and breathing.

But you poke his arm just to make sure. Yep, he's real. He also snores right through your light taps on his wrist.

You grin and relax back into the plush seat on the private government jet that will very soon land in Washington, D.C. You did almost feel guilty for even entering this clean, modern vehicle while completely covered in dirt and blood. But the soft cushions and endless glasses of water and snacks changed that very quickly. Plus, the stewardess assured you that you and Leon would get showers as long and hot as you wanted, and new clothes would be provided, all paid for by the government. The conveniences of being thrown into a video game with a government agent as the hero….

A light tap on your shoulder startles you. You look up into the smiling face of the brunette stewardess, who is doing a terrible job of concealing immense pity for your condition. "So sorry for startling you, sweetie!" she whispers. Sweetie? Really? "We'll be landing in just fifteen minutes, so please put up your tray and your seat. But I can get you something if you like…"

You think. "Do you have any gum?"

She blinks those thick, fake eyelashes. "Gum? No…I'm afraid not…"

You fold up your tray and hand her your empty plastic cup. "I'm good, then."

She smiles brightly and then turns to Leon across the aisle, and quietly puts up his tray. You watch her as she delicately moves to adjust his seat, leaning in a little too closely to the sleeping muscular, blonde-haired blue-eyed agent.

Leon waves a hand. "I got it."

The stewardess backs away, beaming. "Of course! Can I get you—"

"I'm good." Her shoulders slump. "Thanks."

"Of course." She straightens up and walks briskly to the back of the cabin, that wide smile still plastered on her face. You roll your eyes.

"She's totally into you."

He closes his eyes. "I didn't notice." You see a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

You reach over and poke him. "Do you still have gum?"

In one quick movement, he extricates a small box from his pocket and flings it towards you. You snatch it out of the air and flip it open.

"It's empty!"

He sighs, his eyes still closed. "Oops." You sigh, and get more comfortable in your seat. Might as well get in one more nap…

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><p>Loud rumbling and shaking pulls you from sleep. A whirring wooden vehicle driven by Illuminados charges towards you, bearing a giant spinning wheel with long drills ready to impale you. With a loud thud, it malfunctions and halts right in front of you, but the drill mechanism launches off of its wheel and flies at you. The crash jolts you awake, and you jerk against your seatbelt and blink in the light flooding the cabin. The jet bounces on the runway as the thrust reversers loudly counteract its speed.<p>

You take a deep breath to calm yourself after your small nightmare. A warm hand pats your shoulder, and you look into Leon's smiling face. "Hey. We're home."

You smile back. "We're home…" You grin, and look out of the window at a glittering metropolitan skyline. According to the monitor in front of you, it is 9:53 A.M. on a Tuesday. A beautiful, sunny Tuesday in America.

The intercom beeps, and the pilot's voice crackles over the speakers. "Good morning folks, it is approximately 9:54 A.M. as we land here in Arlington, Virginia, and it looks to be a beautiful clear day and about sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. We will be taxied immediately to our private terminal where you will get cleaned up and examined for any medical needs, and then you're all set to meet your families. So sit back, relax, and welcome home." You grin and enjoy watching the bustling, non-violent and bloodless activity of the airport as the jet slowly approaches a terminal that is separate from the rest of the airport. Your grin fades when you see a large number of sleek black vehicles swarmed around the building. You _really_ don't want to deal with government business; you just want to take a shower and go home.

Leon frowns. "Looks like I'll be busy for a while." He looks at you. "You don't have to worry about that, you can just get cleaned up and go home. I'll make sure you avoid the press."

The press? Here to see _you?_ You suppose that your sudden international kidnapping might have aroused the news. You sigh. _I just want peace and quiet… and my bed…_

The seatbelt light turns off, and the stewardess walks smartly down the aisle. "You're free to go!" she exclaims cheerily. "There is personnel waiting to assist you just outside of the gate. You have a great day!" She smiles pointedly at Leon, who nods politely.

You stand and stretch, yawning contentedly. You are _so_ close to going home…! And you are so far away from Spain, and anything to do with Las Plagas or Umbrella thugs. You smile at Leon. "Come on, Leon!" He stands, rolls his shoulders, and follows you down the aisle and to the exit.

"Bye bye!" The stewardess waves daintily, flashing those artificially pearly whites. She does know that you're fresh out of a horrific, deadly experience in Spain, right?

The tunnel leading to the gate smells like new carpet and metal. You can just barely detect the hint of fresh summer air flowing in through the cracks. You relish the scents of modernity and technology.

Voices can be heard ahead. A clamor of subdued, serious tones and excited murmuring. You begin to feel nervous. You approach a bend near the end of the tunnel when you feel that familiar hand on your wrist. Leon's touch instantly sends a wave of calm over you, and you stop and look at him.

"Hey." His blue eyes are soft. Leon looks at you, looks all over you, as though imprinting your image into his mind. Finally, he sighs. "Are you ready?"

You move your wrist to take his hand in yours. You smile up at him. "…I'm ready. I'm ready… to live."

He squeezes your hand. "I'm gonna miss you, Nicole."

Immediately tears flood your vision. "I'll miss you too, Leon…!" Before you start sobbing, you wrap your arms around Leon in a fierce hug. You press your cheek against his firm chest, absorbing his warmth and security one last time, deeply inhaling that smell of gunpowder and dirt and Leon. A few tears escape your determined effort not to cry, and you sniff back a sob as Leon rubs your back.

You feel a small pressure on the top of your head. A kiss. Leon breathes into your hair. "Dry those tears," he murmurs. "You're going home. You're going home, and you'll be safe and happy."

You nod into his shirt. Then you take a deep breath, collect yourself, and step back, keeping your head down to quickly wipe away any more tears. You manage another smile. "Let's go home."

Hand in hand, you walk around the bend, and into a quaint, contemporary terminal where a cluster of serious-looking men stands waiting. All but one are dressed in casual business clothing, and they look glad to see Leon, and congratulate him and immediately discuss government protocol. His hand slips from yours, and your sense of security falls away. Leon's eyes meet yours for a brief instant before he is absorbed in a circle of government agents.

And just like that, your time with Leon Kennedy is over.

You look to your right to see a man in a suit smiling down at you. "Welcome back, Nicole," he says warmly. You smile politely. "I'm Anthony and I'll take you to where you can clean up and be examined by a doctor." His hair, black and cut into a sharp, militaristic buzz cut, contrasts with his kind brown eyes. "If you'll follow me…"

You look back for Leon, but the space where he had stood is now empty. You can't believe that he will no longer be a part of your life. You keep staring at that blank stretch of carpet where you had just seen him. Your fingers open and close around empty air.

You determinedly remind yourself that it's time to move on, and finally go home. You follow Anthony, who walks briskly, and you blink back more tears. You glance down to see that your old shoes are tracking Spanish dirt onto the green carpet. Come to think of it, your feet ache from being crammed within these tight, grimy shoes. You slow down almost to a stop. "Anthony…?"

He glances back, then stops when he sees that you've fallen behind. "Yes?"

You smile sheepishly. "Can I…can I take off my shoes?"

He smiles bemusedly. "It's a free country."

You grin. Yes, it _is!_ And you love it. The disgusting shoes are off faster than a Plaga can pop out of—well, you take them off really quickly. And leave them in a trashcan in the terminal. To die and rot.

Stupid shoes.

You cheerily follow Anthony after that, firmly ignoring your feet, which have marks from being confined in those old shoes and which look and probably smell awful. _T-minus mere minutes until I'm in a shower…._

"Down here," Anthony announces, interrupting your reveries of warm water and soap bubbles, "we have set up facilities and a clinic for you, so in just a moment you'll be able to get yourself clean." He directs you down a service stairwell, and you descend into an open concrete-floored basement that spans the length of the terminal. To your right is a makeshift shower, a plastic facility not unlike a portable toilet in outward appearance, but much larger, completely white, and sealed with a curtain instead of a flimsy door. Directly across from it is a small area enclosed completely by curtains.

Anthony smiles at you. "Your shower is right here, you can just step up inside and deposit your clothes in a bin, enjoy a hot shower, and leave the bin inside. We'll dispose of your old clothes." He gestures to the curtained area. "You can get dressed in there after your shower. Your family provided a set of clothes. You'll be able to meet them after you're all checked out. Sound good?"

You almost cry. Your family is here! You get to wear familiar clothes and be with your family again… Your smile falters for a moment. There is_ one_ other thing on your mind… "Will I get to see Leon again?"

Anthony glances at the floor. "Well, um, we can't be sure how long his decontamination will take, and the usual government protocol…"

You look him square in the eye. "I won't leave without saying goodbye to Leon."

Anthony looks back at you, a mysterious mixture of emotion in his eyes. Finally, he sighs. "I'll see what I can do." You smile, and Anthony smiles lightly back at you. "All right," he gestures to the shower, "shout if you need anything." He crosses to the opposite side of the dressing chamber and out of view.

You take a deep breath, calming your excited nerves about getting out of these filthy, ruined clothes and washing all of the grime away. Then you pull back the thick plastic curtain and step into the large, portable shower. It is bright, clean, and quiet. The aforementioned bin is a large plastic tub set on a bench that extends the length of the shower. You peel off every disgusting layer of clothes and throw them into the bin, gingerly placing your necklace on top, and snap the lid shut. Then you turn the hot water knob, and instantly warm water streams over you. It is the most amazing feeling in the world.

You stand in the water for a long while, savoring the relaxing warmth and the steam that is building up in the shower. Filth slides off of you in waves. Then, you get to work with the lengthy task of scrubbing every inch of your body clean with generic white soap. You scrub vigorously until your skin glows pink. Even the backs of your ears are spotless. Then you squeeze a handful of green shampoo onto your palm –overkill, yes, but you hardly care—and massage it into your scalp and every lock of hair. You lather it in until your head is a mass of foam and bubbles, and then you slowly rinse it out. Soon, only water runs into the drain, clean, clear water. You are spotless and fresh, and you feel much lighter and relaxed. You leisurely shave until you are flawlessly smooth, and then you stand in the hot water for a very long time. Absolute bliss….

You finally turn off the water and look around for a towel. The bench, you notice, has a lip on the edge of the seat that sticks out, so you lift it and half of the bench seat rises to reveal a compartment inside. There is a stack of several fluffy white towels. You grab one and slowly dry yourself. To your delight, a large robe is folded in among the towels. You wrap your body in cozy warmth and step out onto the concrete floor.

"How was your shower?" Anthony appears from around the dressing chamber.

You sigh contentedly. "Amazing. Probably the best shower of my life."

Anthony smiles. "Good." And smashes an elbow into the back of your head.

Lights crackle behind your eyes as that familiar sinking feeling washes over you, and then you collapse into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: The Captor

Your head aches...again….

You sit up and fall right back onto your side. Your wrists are bound together by an itchy rope that snakes around your arms and stops just out of reach of your fingers. Your heels are tied, and the rope connects them to your wrists so that you are perpetually curled with your hands and feet behind your back. You can barely move your wrists, but not enough to reach anything with your fingers. You have extremely limited mobility, and a strip of cloth is tied tightly over your eyes. You notice that you are still clothed in the white bathrobe. And only the bathrobe.

The tears come suddenly, and hard. You sob openly onto the cheap carpeting of what can only be the trunk of a car, and a large car, with a leather covering above you that shields you from sight. You let tears fall into your hair and drip down your chin. You were _so_ close. You were almost home. Now, once again, you are kidnapped and taken away from everyone you love.

Including Leon.

This doesn't seem like the plot of another Resident Evil game –if it isn't, then it is a very real kidnapping that isn't bound by the story of the Resident Evil franchise. Anything can happen. This person could kill you. Anthony could kill you.

Anthony's betrayal fills you with grief and rage. You had only just left Spain, you were about to be reunited with your family and go back to living a normal life, but with one swift movement, Anthony took that away from you and likely betrayed his country as well. If he even _was_ a real government associate…

Your sobs reduce to quick, choked breaths and you sniffle and try to sit up again. No luck. You roll onto your other side and try. Nothing. You try to fold your knees towards your chest, but the rope pulls your wrists down with your heels, and your back arches and your shoulders immediately sting with the strain. You whimper and relax back onto your side. You can't move in the position you're in without hurting yourself. How are you supposed to try to escape? Not that you know where you are, where the presumed car is going, or who is even in here with you.

"Sounds like you're awake." Your heart skips a beat at the exclamation. The smooth voice rises over the low rumble of the vehicle, and you recognize it to be Anthony's. "Sorry for having to knock you out, but you can't know where you are, naturally."

You swallow, and notice that your lips are cracked and your tongue sticks to your throat. "Why are you kidnapping me?"

Anthony grunts. "I couldn't tell you if I knew."

Your sorrow quickly converts to anger. "You don't know who wants me or why?"

"Oh, I know _who _wants you. But of course he's paying me a very generous sum strictly to bring you to him, no questions asked."

Anger boils in your chest. "And then, what, you drive away with a nice chunk of change and go back to your wife and kids, and you tell them that the business trip went really well, and you buy all kinds of nice things for them? And they never know what their husband and father_ really_ did." Your voice quivers with hatred.

Anthony is quiet for a moment. "My personal life is not a subject of discussion. And you're in no position to talk."

You grit your teeth. "_I'm_ in no position to talk?" you spit. "I just spent the last three days trying to survive in a cult full of people controlled by parasites that burst out of their heads! Now I finally had the chance to go home and see my family, and _you_ took all of that away! What have I done that someone else wants to kidnap me? I'm a_ teenage girl!_"

The vehicle stops, and you roll into the back seat of what is definitely a large car. You hear the front door open, then slam shut. Silence. Your heart races. What is he going to do— The trunk pops open, and hot air rushes against your skin. Immediately you panic at the possibility that your robe is in any revealing position, but two large hands grab your ankles and scoop under your neck and lift you out of the trunk. You are carried hurriedly from the car, and you can feel warm sunlight baking your skin and dry dirt crunching underneath of Anthony's shoes. At least, you almost hope that Anthony is the one carrying you. He stops walking and takes a shaky breath.

"Red…?"

"White." An impatient sigh, and a silky feminine voice. You faintly recognize it. "Cut the rope behind her back." A distinct foreign accent… Italian?

"What? She'll be able to—"

Light footsteps stomp quickly and you feel another presence directly in front of you. A very flowery perfume invades your nose. A loud slap cracks above your head, and Anthony stumbles back. "Don't talk back to me! Do as you are told! You are nothing, you are dirt!" A scuff against the ground, and you hear small rocks flick against Anthony's shoes. She backs away. "Now _cut the rope_."

You are tipped over and set onto the ground, and immediately you roll onto your side. Rocks press into your skin, and you inhale fine dust in the dry air. The inside of your mouth is sticky with grit. Then a sharp tug pulls your heels and wrists back behind you, and with a snap, the tension is gone. Your hands are still bound behind your back, but you relish stretching out your legs, which bump into Anthony's hard shoes. You writhe and try to sit up. It really doesn't work. You remember the bathrobe and immediately stop moving.

"Put her in the car," the woman says. "Back seat." You are lifted much more smoothly into Anthony's arms, and feel a sharp, cold breeze as you move out of the sunlight and you are tilted upright until your butt slides onto smooth leather. Anthony's arms slip away, and a car door shuts next to you.

"Here is your money." The woman's voice is muffled through the window. "Instructions for the car are inside. Now get out." Heavy footsteps crunch away through the dirt. Lighter footsteps travel around the front of the car, and the door opens, and smooth fabric slides against the leather in front of you. The door shuts, and the car fills with that potent perfume again.

An amused, haughty chuckle. "Oh, darling. You poor thing. We are going to have _fun_ with you."

"And who's 'we?'" You're not going to keep quiet. You're too angry for that.

The car purrs to life. "You stupid thing. That is not for you to know. _Vada_," she commands, and the vehicle lurches forward. And so you begin the second half of your journey to who-knows-where with an Italian diva who refuses to hold any discussion with you other than throwing insults.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the car stops. The window rolls down, a beep is heard. "Gionne." Something large and mechanical moves, and the car pulls forward.

Gionne…? As in, Excella Gionne?

As in Resident Evil 5?

You'd better not be going to Africa.

The car stops, and the driver and the woman whom you presume to be Excella exits the car. Your arms are sore from being pinned behind your back for hours. The door opens next to you, and you are roughly pulled from the car and lifted over a bulky shoulder. Well, this can't be that woman. You don't even struggle; what's the point?

The air is crisp and cool, and you can smell technology and sterility. The shoes of the man carrying you clomp sharply on tiled floors. You bounce with the momentum of his hurried, businesslike gait. A familiar whoosh, and then he steps into a small room and stops. Another whoosh, and you feel the room shift. You're oddly excited to be in an elevator. And then you realize that it is going down.

Several long moments pass before the thug carrying you silently leaves the elevator and passes into a dark, cold corridor. A low electric hum fills the air. Moments later he stops, turns, and taps a sequence of buttons. A door opens. He walks inside, and you are rolled off of his shoulder and dropped onto a very firm, soft surface. You bounce lightly on your back, nearly in a panic as a large hand grabs your wrists and pulls them upward behind you, rolling you over. A blade slices through the ropes, and you throw out your arms to steady yourself as a hand pulls on your ankles and they are cut free. You tear the blindfold away and jolt upright and see the back of a large man walk out of the room and shut the automatically locking door.

You stare at the cold metal door for a moment, registering that it is keeping you captive in a very dark, small, isolated, and unknown place. You can't see anything in the room except for the light streaming in from the tiny window on the door. You slide your palms and feet along the thing you're laying on. Some sort of bed or cot. You don't dare get up to wander around. Not yet.

You've got to know who has you captive here, and why they kidnapped you. They must know what happened to you in Spain; no one else would be interested in a plain high school student. Unless, they're some kind of twisted psycho kidnapper who prefers victims who have already been traumatized and are too frightened to fight… Okay, that's too complicated. And unlikely. And it certainly doesn't explain the interminable car rides and lackey recruitment and isolated underground facilities. Or the name Gionne… While Excella might be a possibility because you've just escaped from one Resident Evil plot, anyone could have the surname Gionne. Particularly any woman who acts haughty towards men and thinks the world of herself and trots around barren landscapes in high heels… Well, there goes that thought. Then, what does Excella Gionne want with you? She wouldn't have cared about your imprisonment in Spain, or your infection of Las Plagas. From what you know, she doesn't care about anyone other than herself.

Anyone, except…

Your heart sinks. A shiver winds up your spine. And suddenly you would rather be back in Spain, back in the clutches of Saddler and Las Plagas, waiting for salvation and risking your life.

Because you don't know where you are. You don't know what will happen to you. All that you do know, you are sure, is that you are imprisoned by the most evil, intelligent, inhumane, and vile creature to walk the Earth.

Albert Wesker.

Bright fluorescent lights snap on, illuminating the tiny room with a sink, a toilet, a shower, and the meager bed upon which you now sit, bare except for a dirty robe. The metal door slides open. You tug the rope over your legs and nearly jump to your feet.

But you stop moving altogether when a tall, sharp silhouette fills the doorway and you look to your left and see those terribly familiar sunglasses. Albert Wesker appraises you impassively as he stands between you and freedom, his slim figure smartly clad in a dark suit and black shirt with a silk black tie. Those ever-present black gloves cloak his large hands as he shuts the door behind him and steps into the room.

You can't believe that you're staring at Wesker in the flesh. You feel cold.

His lips press into a thin line as he examines you. "I must apologize, Miss Greene."

You gape at him, at that smooth, familiar drawl. "_Apologize?_" Your voice squeaks at the end. "You… I think you're past apologizing. It kind of looks like you _meant_ to kidnap me."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I did indeed, dear heart." He moves to stand in front of the bed. "Make no mistake about that. However, I had specified that you be in a more…dignified condition upon your arrival. It appears that my temporary help was incapable of following orders."

You stare up at him, still processing that he is standing there, tall and cold and breathing, and looking down at you. Albert Wesker. You get chills. You lick your lips and finally speak. "So… so what exactly do you want from me?" You're not sure that you want an answer.

Wesker doesn't skip a beat. "I require a sample of Las Plagas for my research. As it has not been delivered to me, I am forced to resort to more…inconvenient measures."

You raise an eyebrow. "You want _my _Plaga? Well, I guess you didn't hear that it was destroyed in Spain. Obliterated by tiny little laser beams. I can't help you."

Wesker smiles coldly. "On the contrary, dear heart. You see, that machine did dissolve the Plaga inside of you; but the Plaga itself is capable of living as a semi-microscopic organism. It is alive within you, although it can never regain control of your body. It is too weak. But I have the means to revive it."

Good thing you're sitting down, because you feel very weak. "Re…Revive the Plaga!" Your breathing quickens. "Why would you do that? What do you need a mindless slave for? _Why would you do that to me?_" Your head is swimming. You can't go through that again, you can't relive being Saddler's slave and losing all control of your body. You can't endure another nightmare. You need to get out of here.

Wesker chuckles, and you want to punch him. "You have nothing to fear, Miss Greene. You will not be like the villagers; I will extricate the Plaga from your body. But I require you here for other experimentation. For now, I have more immediate matters to attend to."

"Oh no," you begin to stand, your voice shaking, "we're not done here, don't you leave—"

The side of your head pounds against the concrete wall as Wesker grips you underneath of your jaw and holds you suspended over the cot. Colored spots sprout in your vision. Wesker squeezes your jaw until you hear something pop, and you bite back a gasp of pain. You whimper, gasping for breath as blood stings your tongue. You stare sideways at Wesker, and see those frighteningly bright orange irises over the tops of his sunglasses. His stony expression gives you chills.

"You will never again speak to me as though we are equals, do you understand?" He pulls you back and smashes your face against the wall again. Everything is spinning and blood wets your cheek. "You are the prisoner. I have all of the power. You question nothing, you do not speak back. I will not warn you again, Nicole." He leans closer to you. "Do you understand?"

You nod furiously, nearly choking in his grip. You've learned a long time ago that dignity is a small price to pay for survival. But Wesker does not let you go. He suspends you over the cot and holds you closer to him. You're struggling very much to breathe. He watches you intently. "Tell me that you understand."

You take several desperate breaths through your nose as you swallow blood and tremble in his grip. Then you move your lips. "…Y-yes…." You breathe. "I under…st-stand…." Immediately, Wesker lets you go, and you crumple onto the firm cot, coughing and spitting. You massage your jaw and lay still, not even minding the robe anymore.

Wesker walks to the door and holds it open. "Do not forget this, dear heart. The consequences would be regrettable for both of us." And he leaves, the door locking behind him with that familiar clicking sequence. And you are alone and cold and hurt and sobbing.

You are _so_ sick of crying.


	3. Chapter 3: Losing Control

**Sorry for the long wait, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. :)**

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><p>You open your eyes, unaware that you had even fallen asleep. Hair is plastered to your cheeks with dried tears, and the coppery taste of blood still lingers in your mouth. Your jaw is throbbing, and when you sit up, your neck hurts. You are tired of waking up in unknown places with enduring injuries. Ignoring the pain in your head, neck, and jaw, you sit up, completely unsure of how long you've been asleep, or what time or day it is. Is it even still Tuesday anymore? What must your parents be thinking? Or Leon…?<p>

You choke back a sob, tired also of crying all the time. No one knows you're here, and you are the only one capable of getting yourself out. You can't keep thinking about people you care for and what could have been. You can only focus on how to escape before Wesker….

Well, what _does _Wesker plan to do with you?

You don't think about that, either.

You stand up from the bed, your joints popping, and you stiffly walk around the tiny, brightly lit room. You walk in a few circles for the sake of walking, having been lying around for a very long time recently. You turn on the faucet at the plastic sink, and hot water gushes into the industrial-sized bowl. For a moment, you stare at the steam that rises and fogs up the bottom of the mirror. Then you see your own reflection, and feel sick.

Your left eye is scratched just below your eyebrow, and skin has been scraped from your cheek. Your cheekbone and nose are heavily bruised. Part of your bottom lip is cut and swollen. Your hair is a mess from sleeping, but you are much cleaner than when you last saw your reflection in Spain. You see so little of yourself now that it's a surprise to see your reflection and realize that it's you. You look away, depressed, and splash hot, soothing water onto your face. Instantly, you feel better. You shut off the water.

You glance to your left, and something dark grey catches your eye. A monochromatic outfit of sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt sits folded neatly on the cot. How did you not see them before? You cross the room, shivering as your bare feet linger on the cold tile floor, and grab the soft fabric, pleasantly surprised to see tags on both items. The store name is scratched out by marker. You bury your face in the shirt, and inhale the smells of plastic, carpet, and re-circulated air. For a moment, you're in a department store, immersed in racks of clothing. You're almost excited.

Then you look up and are faced with a white concrete wall, and your heart sinks. You rip off the tags and leave them on the floor –Wesker apparently couldn't be bothered to give you a trashcan—and slip out of your robe. You shiver before the dusty robe even falls to the floor, and you pause before donning the new outfit. You're rather grimy from being thrown around the dirt earlier, and you're cold. You decide to try out the shower.

You sit in the steaming shower for a long time, allowing the hot water to run over you long after you're clean. If Wesker plans to hold you prisoner and poke and prod you, the least you can do is make his hot water bill explode. Only when your skin is pink and wrinkled do you finally shut off the water and leisurely dry yourself with a starchy white towel, and yank on the stretchy clothes.

Now what?

You survey your surroundings again. No windows, one small shower, an industrial sink, a toilet, a cot, tile flooring, and a metal mechanized door. You really can't determine a way out of this. Goosebumps rise on the back of your neck as your wet hair magnifies the slight chill in the air. _That's it!_ You perk up and look around, and there, along the back wall, is a vent from which the air is circulated. It seems rather small, but you're willing to try anything to escape and find your family. The vent is far too high for you to reach on your own, so you grab the metal headboard of the cot and pull it against the wall underneath of the vent. You stand up on the cot, and jump, but still you can't reach the vent. Which does indeed look too small for you to crawl into.

Great. This is just great.

You move the cot back to where it was so that Wesker doesn't get suspicious. You're very stressed; you can't find a way out, you are worried sick that your family and Leon are worried sick, you can't remember the last time you had a full meal, and for crying out loud, this floor is freezing! You stomp over to the cot and pull off the blanket and wrap yourself in it up to your neck. And you sit there, and mull over your options as your feet warm up and the steam evaporates from the shower and mirror.

A beep signals the unlocking of the metal door, and you nearly run to it to punch out the intruder, but you sit back when Wesker steps inside.

"I see that you have made use of the facilities," he remarks flatly, noting the shower and your wet hair. "I hope that you are no longer entirely uncomfortable."

You don't suppress a glare. "Why would you care if I'm comfortable or not? Aren't I just your little lab experiment?"

He disregards your snide comment. "Indeed you are, Miss Greene." He smiles grimly. "In fact, everything that you do in this room is relevant to my research. In time, your habits will prove most interesting."

You bristle. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Wesker approaches you, observing you through the dark lens of those ever-present sunglasses. "Your time for leisure is over, Miss Greene. I'm ready to extract the parasite. You will come with me to the laboratory."

You raise an eyebrow. "You want me to walk with you? You don't have any thugs to carry me around?"

"There are no such thugs here, dear heart. Very few people work in this facility other than myself."

_Okay, then who dumped me in this room in the first place? Sure wasn't you… _"Even so, why should I just follow you?"

Wesker's mouth presses into a thin line. "Miss Greene, you try my patience. I will remind you that I hold all of the power here. Now I am giving you a choice. Either you walk yourself to the laboratory, or I drag you there by your hair with one hand. It hardly matters to me. Make your choice."

You hate to give him the satisfaction, but you feed him the obvious answer. "…I'll walk with you."

Wesker looks pleased, and you hate his guts. "This way, then." Unsure of what else to do –or where you are, or when you can get a pair of shoes, and why are you always shoeless when something happens, _why?_—you follow Wesker out of the room and wait while he locks the door with an impossible number combination.

You look around, trying to burn everything you see into memory for when you plan your escape. To the right of your room is a long, dark hallway lined with doors. To the left is a short length of the same scenery before a set of elevator doors at the end. Nothing remarkable whatsoever. Wesker leads you to the elevator, and you step onto the rumbling tile floor after him. You look up for an indication of your floor, and are shocked to find none. No panel dictating your location exists within the elevator, nor are the buttons numbered. And Wesker just presses one.

"What's that about?" You gesture to the blank buttons. There must be twenty or so identical silver buttons.

"For preventing any intruders from finding my most precious resources." Wesker's voice is amplified in the small elevator cabin. "I am conducting highly important research. I can't have, say, your friend Leon just charging in here and tracking you down, can I?" He inclines his head towards you with the slightest of amused smiles.

You suppress an enraged glare at his casual mention of your friend. Instead, you breathe and continue the conversation. "So how do you know where you're going?"

Now he looks at you as though you are an ignorant child. "I designed this facility, dear heart. It's impossible for me to lose my way."

You stare at him morosely when the elevator beeps, and the doors open to a very large room humming with a variety of scientific equipment. Computers and monitors are stationed along the back wall, while several tables with metal shackles are arranged in rows on the left and right sides of the floor. Tables and cabinets line the walls and fill the open room. Everything looks very stereotypical. Everything except for the enormous glass tubes in the center of the room filled with clear, bubbling liquid, and supported by thick wire cables from the ceiling.

You stand there for a moment, stunned, until Wesker pushes on your shoulder. "Step into the room." You step into the laboratory and are immediately anxious. You try to regulate your pounding heart.

Wesker nods towards a table on the left. "Lie down on a table. This procedure should be relatively painless." He looks down at you. "And I suggest that you refrain from trying anything, Miss Greene. You cannot kill me, but there will be consequences for trying. I will gladly take away your running water and your bed."

You simply nod up at him; you have no idea what else you can do. And then you walk to the table. You recall that today Wesker is only removing the Plaga from your body, so you will have no trace of the parasite. His research on the Plaga should give you some time to plan an escape, you reason, providing that you remember what little you've seen of the Umbrella facility today.

You are standing in front of the table, and you can't move. The open shackles and the gleaming metal table give you the chills. And suddenly you are lifted off of your feet and lying on the table and Wesker is snapping the shackles into place before you can blink. And you go into a full panic. Your breathing quickens, you begin to sweat, and you feel sick. What if Wesker lied – what if the Plaga speech was just a ruse? What if, right now, he is going to turn you into some kind of monster? You certainly couldn't put it beyond him, and suddenly you wish you had found something in that cell to gouge into his eye, because you want to be _anywhere_ but here. Even pinned against a wall of stone as Krauser beats a lie out of you. Even trapped in a dark storage room hoping that Leon is still alive and looking for you. Even hypnotized and in the clutches of Saddler himself.

A prick in your lower arm brings you back to reality. You look down and see that Wesker is injecting you with something clear in a syringe. "You are needlessly hysterical, dear heart." He looks at you impassively. "You won't be dismembered or turned into a monster. Now sleep," he soothes, pressing your head back against the table. You stare up at Wesker as he pulls a cart with a large machine into view. You can feel your body becoming heavy and limp. Wesker produces a much longer syringe with green liquid just before you slip into unconsciousness.

You wake up on that stiff white cot in that sterile white room, your head swimming with worries. You sit up, dizzy, and lift up your shirt to see a single large bandage patched below your bellybutton. There are no other signs of intrusion on your body. Maybe Wesker lived up to his word…?

Or maybe he didn't. You are, after all, a lab experiment. There's no way for you to really know.

There is a note taped to the wall next to you, with very neat, slanted handwriting. _Wesker wrote me a note. That's his handwriting_, you marvel.

_You will be tired and dizzy for some time. Do not move quickly. Do not touch the bandages. Eat the food by the door._

Well, he doesn't dodge the point… You are in fact tired and dizzy. And very, very hungry. You last ate countless bags of pretzels and a mouthwatering microwave-heated in-flight meal on Tuesday morning, whenever that was. Tuesday… you cling to that word like a beacon in your horrific timeline of these past several days.

_My gosh,_ you wonder, _all of this has happened to me in about a week. One week ago, I was… I was analyzing Shakespeare and playing video games…_ Tears fill your eyes at the recent memory of a normal life that feels like an eternity ago. Then your stomach rumbles, and your mind is only on the food that Wesker left for you.

You stand up, your abdomen aching, and your legs nearly give out. _Right, don't move quickly…_ You wait for your head to stop swimming before you walk to the tray left beside the floor. Your mouth nearly waters at the sight of a boxed meal with pork smothered in gravy, buttery peas, and mashed potatoes. The whole thing tastes like plastic, but you inhale it in moments and then sip contentedly at the bottle of water. What on earth prompted Wesker to give you a balanced dinner? You had expected crackers or a granola bar. You aren't about to complain, though.

_Unless he's drugged it…_ You instantly stop that train of thought. You can't keep thinking that Wesker is trying to kill or mutate you with everything that he does. It's simply no way to mindlessly exist in a tiny underground prison.

You scrape out the gravy and lick it, then realize what you're doing and put down the box. Then you look around at the bunch of nothing in the room and sit on the cot. Now what? Wesker may have given you a place to sleep, food, and running water, but he didn't give you anything to _do_. You'll go crazy.

You peel the note off of the wall and stare at the handwriting. It's slanted, almost cursive, and very neat. It was written in pen. How exciting. You wish that you had some way of requesting a book or something…

You stare at the note, at the neatly spaced words and perfectly straight letters, and an idea comes to you. And it will take forever to do. You're giddy at the thought of it. You peel the tape away from the paper and set it aside. Then you slowly, painstakingly tear up the note into single letters and set them down on the tray. You try to figure out what to spell out with your very limited options.

Well, you want to ask Wesker for something to do…

_can i have_

Hmm. What _do_ you want? Something that will last a while. A book or two would be nice.

_can i have books_

But what if he doesn't have any books? Well there have to be books here somewhere, and if he bought you clothes somehow, he can buy something to keep you from pulling your hair out.

_can i have books or something im totally boreD_

It's looking good, but you need to thank your captor for anything he does for you. Wesker's rather insistent on that whole "you're not equals" idea. But you've used the only letter K. You can improvise with a sideways letter M.

_can i have books or something im totally boreD thank You_

Beautiful.

You line up the tiny letters and slide them closely together, then press the tape sticky side down on top of it and grin at your hard work. A little message for Wesker stuck on the tray. You're excited. Now when is he going to come back?

You sit by the tray for a while, playing with the leftover letters. Then you nap due to boredom. When you wake up, the tray is gone, and a stack of books and a granola bar sits in its place. It's like Christmas. Except that the books are all about biochemistry and human anatomy. What a sense of humor he has.

You eat, then shower, because you feel like you should and you have no sense of time. You almost dislike pulling on the used grey outfit, but it's better than that dusty robe that lies abandoned in one corner of the room. Then you sit on the cot and mix letters again. You try to make a story by creating three words, then erasing the first and creating a fourth word, and so on. It really doesn't work.

"I suppose the books are not to your taste?" Wesker fills the doorway, a light smirk on his otherwise stony face.

"I couldn't quite get past 'Oxidative Phosphorylation,' so not really."

"A pity. But your attention is needed elsewhere, I'm afraid."

"Elsewhere, as in the laboratory?" You feel anxious.

"Yes."

"Why do you tell me all of this? Why don't you just drag me up there and do whatever you want? Why even…" you gesture to the cell, "this?" You can't help but wonder.

"I do not care for torture, dear heart. Listening to endless screams is not a preference of mine. Keeping you in here is more of a convenience to me than ignoring basic human needs. I do need you alive." He fixes you with the full force of his stare. "I am also not one for needless conversation. Come here."

You stand and wordlessly walk to the door, no longer even wondering about shoes. You're just used to being without them again.

Wesker watches you from the corridor. "Shut the door behind you." You do so, and are immediately concerned. Why are you following his every command to the letter? Why aren't you hesitating like you _want_ to?

You see that Wesker is observing you intently. "Call the elevator." You walk to the elevator doors and push the silver button, and inwardly, you panic.

"Okay, what's going on?" Your voice is shrill. "Why can't I make myself _stop?_"

"In the elevator," Wesker replies, and in you go. "You might recall that you are a test subject, Miss Greene. You are currently being tested."

You gape at him. "With _what?_"

Wesker pushes a button, and the doors close. "With a new chemical that gives me control over you. Be quiet."

_Did you put that in my food!_ You want to yell. But you can't. He told you not to.

If Wesker is doing this without the Plaga, what else is he going to do to you?

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><p><strong>Please, please review!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4: Lessons

**Thanks for your patience. I hope it's worth the wait :)**

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><p>You have been following Wesker's menial commands for a long while, with a computer monitoring your mental activities. Or something. Personally, you just daydream while your fingers mechanically press on an electronic keyboard according to Wesker's directions. You have no idea what song you're playing. Brainwashed you is much better at playing the electronic piano than you ever really were. You tune into reality as your hands play a pretty chord. You glance around while your fingers dance along the keys, and suddenly, the song is very familiar.<p>

"_Moonlight Sonata?_" you ask, looking up at Wesker as your hands continue to play.

"Yes. A particular favorite of mine." Figures.

"It's kind of creepy how I know how to play it."

"I find it rather useful that you remember everything that I have told you do to." Wesker smirks.

You finish the song, and your hands fold demurely into your lap as instructed. Wesker is absorbed in whatever he's doing on his computer. You sigh, and look around the lab. Your back is aching. "So... can I sit back or something? My back is killing me…"

Wesker's orange eyes glance at you over the tops of his sunglasses. "Don't speak."

You frown and cross your ankles impatiently. You wish that he would finish this repetitive test and let you go back to your room. Bored, you try to play Moonlight Sonata from memory. You surprise yourself with a few perfect notes before Wesker's gloved hand catches your wrists.

"Did I instruct you to play?" You stare up at him. Wesker releases your hands, and you fidget with your shirt nervously. He frowns. "The chemical has metabolized into your system. That was much quicker than I expected."

You sit back into the chair with relish. "So, does this mean I get to go back to my room…?"

Wesker returns to his computer. "Hardly. There is still work to do."

Your breathing quickens. What other chemicals might you have to test?

The monitor beeps, and Wesker looks up at you. "There is nothing to fear, dear heart. Don't forget that I have no plans to turn you into a monster." He stands. "This way."

Even without the brainwashing chemical, you have no choice. You walk to Wesker, who releases you from the monitor and leads you back to the elevator. He pushes a different button. You go down maybe two floors, and the elevator opens into a very short hallway. Only one door sits at the end. Wordlessly, you follow Wesker to the door, which he opens to reveal a large, empty room.

You step inside, and look around at…nothing. "What's this?"

"This," says Wesker from right beside you, "is another test." A pinching sensation pierces your arm. A syringe held by Wesker injects a pink liquid into your system. Immediately, you feel a rush of energy, of power. You feel like you can do anything. Wesker watches you intently as he steps away, neatly removing his jacket and disposing of the syringe. You just stand there, feeling adrenaline wash over you. You feel strong, aware, _alive_. You flex your hands idly.

And suddenly, Wesker's hand is around your throat, holding you suspended in the air. You struggle and choke, and then you throw one desperate kick at his legs.

It connects, and he grunts against the force of your kick. He smirks. "Very good." He throws you at the wall, and your body twists to brace your feet against the wall on impact, but you fall clumsily to the floor. Immediately, you jump upright and duck to avoid a punch that you hadn't fully realized was coming.

What is going _on_ here?

Why are you fighting Wesker? How are you still alive?

You knock away Wesker's arm and throw your own punch upwards, but of course he leans back and you hit empty air. Wesker kicks and sends you flying, and again you react and flip to land on your feet. This time, you remain upright, and you stop, staring at Wesker.

"What _is_ this!" You breathe hard.

Wesker rolls up his sleeves. "A test of my newest serum. I think it's going quite well."

You rub your sore neck. "What, beating me up at super speed?"

He smiles coldly. "I believe you're holding your own, don't you agree?"

"Maybe…" You look at your shaking fists, feel energy dancing through your veins.

Wesker is behind you, pinning your arm behind your back. "Then, shall we continue?"

Pain radiates down your spine. You cry out, and then you throw an elbow into his stomach and stagger away, shaking out your arm. But Wesker attacks again, aiming a punch at your chest. You roll away and kick at his side, but he steps away from your strike. Wesker frowns. "Your form is sloppy. Of course you've never had formal training."

You shrug. "I took five years of karate…"

"You've not kept up your practice."

"…Yeah."

Wesker sighs. "You are useless without instruction." His posture is sharp, irritated. "I don't like to waste my time."

Your eyes widen. You barely whisper, "What are you going to do?"

"I'll teach you. At the least, it will push the limits of the substance."

You stare at him. "You're not going to kill me?"

Wesker laughs coldly. "No. You're not entirely dispensable, dear heart. Not yet."

You take in several deep breaths, still recovering from the intense exercise of sparring with the fastest and most ruthless combat fighter in the world. At least, you figure that he is, him being chemically enhanced and all. You rub your aching knuckles. "Well… now what?"

Wesker adjusts his sunglasses. "Your education begins."

You receive instruction in close physical combat, enhanced by the drug in your system. Wesker stands in front of you, shaded eyes sweeping over your form as you throw punches and mock strangleholds. He moves behind you, his long fingers gliding over your arms as he perfects your position. One large hand grips your lower arm, raising it just so. His other hand pulls back your shoulder, squaring your torso. His leg slides forward to nudge your feet further apart. Wesker towers over you, manipulating your body, controlling every part of you in a slow, intertwining dance. You've never dreamed that this could be possible: Wesker teaching you and fighting you, locking you in a deadly grip and instructing you to break away. The serum in your veins programs his instructions into your brain. You forget nothing and you never tire out. This goes on for several hours.

You are surprised during a drill when you strike against him with a flash of one arm, your elbow crashing into his chin, knocking back his head and dislodging those deep black sunglasses. Everything stops then. Wesker loosens his grip and looks down at you with one piercing orange eye. His thin lips curl in a tight smile. "Very good." That smoldering orange gaze sends chills down your spine. Another thing about Wesker that you could never have imagined experiencing.

You relax your stance at his command, and Wesker straightens his sunglasses. "The chemical's control of the learning faculties is remarkable. But it requires further development, and you are still hardly proficient in combat." That trace of a frown resurfaces. "A pity that I'm the only one capable of teaching you." You aren't sure what to say. Suddenly your limbs go numb, and energy utterly leaves your body. Your legs buckle and you drop. You are completely exhausted.

Wesker grabs you and lifts you up. "This will be a problem." He coolly observes your limp body. "You'll need a constant supply. For now you'll recover in your room." You lie helplessly against his chest, barely able to move your aching body. You've been so overworked under the drug that you can't even stay upright. Wesker starts to carry you to the elevator, but the doors open before he approaches, and a blur of creamy fabric and olive toned skin sweeps past you.

"I have your serums, Albert." Excella Gionne stands directly in front of Wesker, her voice cool.

Wesker steps around her, a grunt rumbling against your cheek. "I will return here in four minutes. At that time I will be due."

"Albert—"

"If you are getting sloppy, Excella—"

"What have you been doing for so long with this—this—_child?_" Excella's voice jumps in pitch. She stamps her foot, and you hear jewelry rattle.

The doors slide towards each other, but Wesker lunges forward with one leg to force them into the walls. You feel him stiffen. "My private work is none of your concern. Stay out of my business and out of my way. I don't care how long it takes. Control yourself, or don't bother coming to my bedroom!"

The elevator doors close and you descend.

Wesker wordlessly delivers you to your simple cot. He stands above you for a moment.

"I will leave instructions for your recovery. Rest, Miss Greene."

You don't need to be told twice.

You don't know how much time passes. You don't even dream. You just sleep, and you sleep deeply, recovering energy that was lost focusing on Wesker's commands and attacks. When you finally, slowly wake from your rest, you realize that you haven't moved an inch on the cot.

You are also very, very sore.

You groan, you stretch, and you are sorer. You stop moving. If this is what your life is going to be like every day until Wesker thinks you've learned enough combat techniques, you don't know what you'll do. You'll find any way to change things or get out.

You lie there, prostrate on the bed, staring at the ceiling for a moment or two. And then you notice a note on the wall, taped thoughtfully close to your head so that you don't have to move in order to read it.

_Your body will take some time to adjust to your training. Rest for now, but be prepared to return to our regimen tomorrow. Do not remove the ice._

Ice? You glance at your arms and legs, and see packs of ice wrapped tightly around various muscles. You enjoy the slight soothing sensation that they provide. You glance around the room, and see a folding table set up next to the cot, laden with a boxed meal and water. You smile, pleased that Wesker treats you so well. Then you remember why.

You frown, and spend the rest of your day napping and trying to forget everything that could happen to you. Eventually, the soreness fades enough that you are able to sit up and eat the simple, tasteless meal. Food that is loaded with vitamins and nutrients – Wesker is determined to turn you into a fighting machine, apparently.

Why, you'd rather not think about. You decide to try taking a shower, since you are rather sweaty from the workout and you hope that it will relieve your soreness. The ice has melted, so you peel away the tight, dripping plastic wrap and gingerly slip out of the monochromatic outfit, and enjoy a long, steaming shower. You quickly dry off and hobble back to the cot, and wrap yourself in the blanket for warmth. The clothing, you notice, is stretched here and there. You hope the training doesn't ruin your only outfit.

You aren't sure what to do with yourself until tomorrow's exercise. But you're still sore, so you try not to do much of anything at all. You sleep and daydream the day away.

That familiar beep wakes you from another nap, and Wesker enters the room, dressed in combat clothing. "You are sleeping far too much, dear heart."

_How would you know?_ "Well, I can't exactly dance around for fun right now."

"Regardless, your lessons resume now. Come."

You sigh, rolling your stiff shoulders. "Seriously?"

An angry glance. "Get up."

You stand up and walk to Wesker, surprised that you do feel much better than you did yesterday. You suppress a yawn as you go into the elevator and then ascend to that familiar empty room.

Wesker produces another syringe and injects you in the arm. It takes immediate effect. Your eyes go straight to Wesker.

_Great_, you wonder, _now he's given me that strange drug… and I'm brainwashed at the same time. I'm a superpowered slave._

Wesker looks you up and down. "Quick absorption, that's good. But it metabolizes too often. I have much more work to do. For now…" Wesker moves to elbow you in the jaw, and you duck, grab his arm, and flip him over your shoulder. Wesker lands on his back and kicks your feet from under you, then is upright and crashes a heel into your chest.

The thump is painful, but the drug lessens the effects of the blow. You roll and jump to your feet as Wesker throws a punch, and you catch his fist and pull him towards you for a kick. Wesker sidesteps the kick and knocks away your arm, which you swing back towards his sunglasses.

"Stop." You freeze, your knuckles hovering just above his thin lips. He smiles coldly. "You remember your instructions. Very good. And the chemical enhances your strength considerably. You become more valuable to me every day, Miss Greene."

_So glad to hear that._ Wesker assumes a fighting stance, and you mirror it, and he resumes your training in close combat. You learn various methods of breaking out of a hold and then incapacitating your aggressor. Wesker teaches you blocks and kicks, and your flexibility improves. With periodic injections of the chemical, your lessons continue for hours. You never grow tired or sore. You remember everything that he teaches you. But personally, you are going crazy. Trapped in your own body as Wesker, the puppet master, controls you. The chemical keeps you moving, contracts your muscles, beats your heart. You don't need to think to do anything. Your mind slips away into a far corner of your consciousness as your body functions mindlessly. You can daydream, you can lament your situation, and still your body throws punches, blocks kicks, throws Wesker to the ground. You hate everything.

And you miss Leon terribly. Every day you think about him and wonder where he is, what he's doing, if he is healthy, if he's looking for you. He is really your only hope of breaking out of this place, now that Wesker has control of you. When you're not being brainwashed, you are too sore to move your own body. Days pass by in which all you can do is spar and sleep. Time slows to a blur of the same functions hour by hour, day after day. And only in your dreams do you have the energy to attempt to escape, when Leon is rescuing you in spectacular fashion.

Sometimes, he punches Wesker in the face. Those are the fun dreams.

You step out of the shower one day and notice something sitting on the edge of the cot. You really hope that Wesker didn't walk in while you were showering, but you figure if he did, it wasn't to try to see you naked. You discover that your usual outfit is gone. Good riddance, because those pants were stretched to ruin.

You cross the room and unfold the mysterious gift, which is a thick, stretchy mass of fabric. It's a simple, dark gray battle suit. You frown; apparently you're a test subject for everything. The suit slips on easily and fits snugly. It fastens at the base of your neck, but is very breathable. And of course, there is an Umbrella logo printed on your chest. You wonder where it says "Property of Wesker."

You stretch and move around in the flexible suit, uncomfortable in something that covers everything down to your fingers. But you slowly get used to it. The suit is very simple, and the built-in boots are slightly larger than your own foot size. You suppose that Wesker had this made quickly for your training. You practice a few attacks, surprised by your increased flexibility. You feel like you're in the middle of karate lessons again.

A piercing alarm startles you from your exercise. You turn around, glancing wildly for any sign of trouble. Are deadly creatures on the loose? Is the place going to explode? Has Leon charged inside looking for you?

The door flies open, and Wesker appears in front of you. "There is a situation."

That's probably the understatement of the year. "What is it?"

"An intruder is tearing apart my facility. I don't know who or what he wants."

_Leon! _So much hope rises in you that you almost grin right at Wesker. "Why find me? Aren't you worried about more important things?" You can't help but wonder why Wesker came immediately to you.

He grabs your arm and that familiar pinch sends a rush of power and calm into you. "Of course, dear heart. You are going to help me to protect it." You look up at Wesker expectantly, while inwardly you rage. Wesker wants you to take on whatever triggered the alarm, and you don't know if you are strong enough, and you certainly don't know if you will survive. But that is all out of your control.

Whether you live, or die, all you can do is watch.

Wesker leads you to the elevator, and presses a different button. When the doors open, he remains inside. "The intruder is somewhere on this floor. I will lock down the rest of the building. Make sure that he stays here, and take him out." You step out of the elevator, which closes and leaves you behind on a quiet floor with an unknown threat.

Good thing you're not in control of your bladder.

Your body stands still, and you listen for any sign of…anything. Then you walk down the silent hallway. Your new battle suit squeaks with the movement. Suddenly, you feel much less threatening.

A crash sends you running towards a distant room, when you want to be sprinting away as fast as you can. Inwardly, you're freaking out. Outwardly, you throw open the door and see a large room full of overturned shelves. No one is inside.

You walk around the room, inspecting it for any clues about the whereabouts or the identity of the intruder. You lightly sidestep shelves and boxes and plastic bottles scattered on the floor. What a mess. You find nothing.

You're confused and frightened, but your body walks to a door connecting to an adjacent room. A large, dark, stone room. Perhaps another storage area. A very industrial-looking elevator is across from you. Where are you?

Footsteps from behind startle you.

"Nicole?"

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><p><strong>Please review!<strong>


	5. Chapter 5: The Soldier

**Thank you for your patience. Do note that the rating has been bumped up due to strong language. Enjoy, and please review :)**

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><p>You turn around, your body tense and ready to destroy any threat. You hope that Leon has come to rescue you. You're also terribly afraid of what you might do to him.<p>

What you don't expect to see is Jack Krauser staring at you from the doorway.

For a moment, both of you are silent. You can hardly process what you're seeing. Krauser stands tall, his enormous frame filling the portal. He wears dark cameo pants, black boots, and a black woven shirt. Krauser's face is horribly scarred with pink burns and pockmarks, with only the right half of his face remaining untouched. His left eye is scarred over, but still stares you down with amused cruelty. His sneering lips are split like bursting sausages. His left ear is a pink wrinkled mass. Krauser's torso is prominently scarred and burned, but most noticeable is the large dark mark in the center of his chest where something had exploded out of his body. And that arm. Krauser's left arm is still mutated into that writhing alien blade that he flexes eagerly, and the Plaga tentacles whip towards you, thirsting for blood. Krauser has been dragged through Hell, having burst from a fiery stone grave and survived Ada's attack. But he is all too glad to see you.

"Well, look who's here." He laughs deeply, maniacally. "So you and Leon got off of the island alive. And somehow you've washed up right here, right in front of me, here in Umbrella." He looks you up and down. "And in that outfit." You don't appreciate Krauser's leering stare. He's not the calculating, brutal man from before. But your body doesn't betray your uneasiness.

"Why are you here?" Your hand curls into a fist.

Krauser frowns, contorting his marked face into a twisted mask. "I wasn't looking for _you_. I'm hunting the man who sent me to Spain and denied me the power I needed to kill you all! He left me for dead, but he'll find out who the dead man _really_ is." His eyes widen with bloodlust and insanity.

"Wesker? That's not going to happen," you can't help but say. You really can't help it. You take an aggressive stance. "I'll destroy you."

Krauser laughs. "Oh, _will_ you?" He brandishes his bladed arm and steps towards you. "I'd love to see you try, sweetheart." He pauses when you don't back away. His eyes look you over, and come to rest on the Umbrella insignia. Fury glints in his pale eyes. "What the hell…are you doing here."

A device on your collar blinks, and you unclip it from the material. A tiny Bluetooth device; you fit it into your ear and press the button. Static sings before a voice fills your head. "Jack Krauser's reappearances are becoming a thorn in my side. You're wasting time. Take him out, permanently."

Your body jumps into action, charging at Krauser, who barely ducks away from a flying kick at his head. His mutated arm swings up and you twist in the air, your elbow just grazing against the organic blades. You land behind Krauser and he whips around, stabbing his mutation into the wall next to your head.

His breath crashes fast and hot against your face. "What the _hell_ are you!? You can't work for Wesker! I worked for years to gain his trust, to earn this power!" The Plaga tentacles on Krauser's arm whip the air, crackling with his rage. He punches the wall on the other side of your head. You're terrified; Krauser is insane with anger. You have no idea if you're going to survive, not that you can do anything about it. Who knows what he will manage to do to you before you kill him. If you even can.

Krauser pulls his arm out of the wall and thrusts it towards you. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here?" _Language!_ you think as your body ducks out of the way and slides around Krauser's hulking form.

You whirl around and lean backwards to avoid Krauser's blades tearing through the air. He follows up with a punch, which you knock away with your arm before throwing a kick towards his disfigured face. Your foot barely misses his chin. Krauser brings the heavy arm up again, and you duck under and then spring to your feet beside him, driving your fist into his cheekbone. You've just hit Krauser, you realize, and he reels away before charging again. You can't even process what's going on as you and Krauser move with startling speed.

Krauser swings the mutated blades and you jump aside before kicking him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Krauser grabs your ankle and hurls you into the wall. The back of your head smacks onto concrete. Your vision swims, but you aren't as injured as you had expected. _Probably that chemical again_, you figure, as you roll away from a stomp at your skull.

You remember your training, and kick Krauser's legs out from underneath of him. As he crashes to the floor, you jump to your feet and thrust an axe kick at his broad chest. Krauser curls away from the blow and rolls to his feet, snarling at you.

"Look at you," he spits, "fighting back like you can beat me." He laughs coldly. "Like you even stand a _chance_ against my power!"

And he turns and flees into the next room. Against your will, you run after him, and are met with a metal shelf flying towards your head before you cross the threshold. You jump back as shelf after shelf crashes against the doorframe. Finally you throw the shelves to the side as Krauser moves further into the room.

He picks up a container of liquid and grins at you. "Wonder what this does." He throws it at you, and you duck before it smashes against a wall, spattering the hissing substance against concrete that steams and becomes pocked.

_Acid-_ you sidestep another container whipped into the air. _If one of these hits me—_

Your body steadily moves towards Krauser, who finds deadly substances and heavy shelves to throw. You surprise yourself when you catch a vial in mid-air and throw it back at Krauser, who annihilates it with his bladed arm, ignoring the steam that rises from its exoskeleton. He glares at you and disappears into the hallway. Your body follows.

The hallway is quiet. You stand still and listen before walking slowly, taking quiet, careful steps towards the elevator. It hasn't been summoned, so Krauser doesn't intend to leave, assuming that there isn't a staircase somewhere.

You pause before rounding the corner of the hallway, but still Krauser does not appear. Your brainwashed body is very careful, perhaps because you know that Krauser is on the hunt.

And he is a deadly and superb hunter.

You cannot detect any signs of movement. An open door catches your attention, and you step inside a quiet room with a long table and chairs. Empty. A hand curls around your throat and crushes any effort to breathe. As you gasp and your vision spins, Krauser pulls you back and slides his arm around your throat, curling it upwards and lifting you off of the ground. His other arm secures your arms to your side. You choke in his grip. Your vision darkens.

Krauser laughs. "This… _this_ is what happens to people who piss me off! And you have _really_ pissed me off." Your limbs feel heavy. Everything blurs and suddenly Krauser seems very far away—

You drop and hit the ground facedown. Air rushes into your bruised airway with a wave of pain and you wheeze. A boot slams into your back, Krauser grinds the heel into your spine. "It wouldn't be any fun to kill you now. If you're Wesker's pet, then this should really be interesting, sweetheart." The boot lifts and crashes against your ribs, sending you flying into a row of chairs. Pain rattles your bones, you don't want to move but the chemicals won't let you acknowledge the swelling bruises on your neck, your sides, your ribs, and who knows where else. You turn your aching head to see Krauser brandish a knife towards you. "Don't bore me this time." He stalks out of the room, and for a moment all that you hear is the wheezing of your strained throat.

Your body lurches upright, ignoring pain that flares through your limbs. You struggle to regulate your breathing and cough, spitting blood onto the floor. Your feet move towards the door against every racing thought in your mind. Krauser is putting aside his hatred for Wesker just for you. He's on the hunt now, he's playing his game. You remember his fanatic glee in the ruins, placing traps and chasing down Leon with knife and gun. This Krauser has snapped. He's out to kill anyone with a hand in his loss of power. Starting with his replacement—you.

You move into the hallway, where everything is sterile uniformity. Your head turns, listens. You approach an intersection and wonder which way Wesker's chemicals will lead you. A high whistle sounds, and your body tenses before a distant flash compels you to duck. Krauser's knife sails above your head and cuts into the wall behind you. He is absent.

Something slams into the back of your head, and even the serum in your veins struggles to keep you from blacking out. When you topple forward, you roll and twist around as Krauser towers over you, swinging his blade down with a laugh. You sweep your leg across Krauser's feet. He crashes to the ground and you move to get up when a low growl stops you both cold.

Claws scrape against metal somewhere in the corridor. Your eyes shoot to Krauser, whose eyes narrow. "You're fucking kidding me." The scraping is louder, and then around a corner emerges something large and low to the ground. It claws towards you on four sinewy legs and a scorpion-like tail whips in its wake. It has a humanoid head, with black squinting eyes and a large, jutting jaw baring giant pointed teeth. It is sleek and moves quickly, dripping unnamable slime. It sees you both and opens its jaws impossibly wide with a loud roar. You and Krauser are on your feet when its tail whips forward, stretching to wrap around Krauser's bladed arm. Krauser roars and struggles against the creature's pull. You run forward, your mind in a panic, your body unflinching as the monster's attention shifts to you. You dodge lashing claws and leap onto its slick back. Its tail swings to one side, knocking Krauser into the wall but allowing him to break free. You nearly lose your footing but brace your knees on either side of its neck. Unable to move its head, the monster is enraged and furiously lashes out with its tail. It coils around your torso and just as you are lifted up, you see pulsing on its neck a knot of nerves and brain barely concealed under translucent skin. You aim a strike at its center.

Then you are thrown backward with such force that you hit the ground, losing the air in your lungs, and slide until you collide with a door several yards away. Pain flares in your neck and for a frightening moment, you can't move. Krauser has charged at the monster and is fending off its slashing claws with the shield extension of his arm. He can't get close without the tail whipping over his shield. You struggle to stand up and nausea pins you to the spot. You terribly want to run, to live, to escape from this nightmare. But your body breaks into a run at the beast. The tail lashes back again, cracking the wall next to your head. Krauser lifts his shield and sinks his blade into the creature's shoulder, and its front leg buckles. You sprint around another attack from the tail as Krauser jumps over to bring down the other front leg. But mid-leap, Krauser kicks off of the creature's back and lands next to you. His knife slices against your arm, and then his other arm swings around and his elbow hits your chest. You buckle and slam into the back of the monster. Krauser positions the tip of his blade over your throat when the tail coils around his arm. You slip off of the creature's back as Krauser struggles to free himself. Of course, you can't forget—Krauser still wants to kill you. You've got to defend yourself against two monsters at once.

You can't help but wonder if Wesker planned this.

The monster twists to lunge at you, hot spit flying as its fangs gleam in the fluorescent light. You throw up a leg to kick it in the jaw, but its uninjured foreleg rakes against your thigh. You manage to knock away the creature's head and scramble out of its reach. Krauser frees his blade and the tail whips back to attack him again. Krauser raises his arm and cuts through the appendage, sending the lifeless tail crashing onto the floor. Blood sprays the air as the monster writhes; you jump back and catch your breath.

The creature roars and gnashes its teeth. It whirls around to find a target for its rage. You see Krauser reach down; he hoists the amputated tail above his shoulders, his muscled arms slick with blood, his eyes bright with insanity. The creature scuttles towards you, its maw opening, wiry jaws unhinging to reveal teeth as long as your forearm and dripping with foam. Your body tenses against a wall; one foot plants against the wall, ready to spring as the creature rears back and bares its teeth. A long, pointed tongue squirms in the back of its throat. Blood explodes from its mouth as a black curling stinger slices through the tongue and protrudes between its teeth. An agonized roar drowns in red foam and gurgling blood. The monster's black eyes roll into the back of its head and it collapses, its rear legs flailing and scraping against the floor, its maw broken and limp. The creature falls quiet and Krauser stands atop its corpse, grinning in a shower of blood and venom. The bulk of the tail cradles under Krauser's human arm, and he pulls it out of the creature's throat. The head drops at your feet, a gaping dark hole gleaming with gore up at you.

The steady dripping of blood matches your heartbeat as Krauser stares at you, the tip of the large stinger pointed at your chest. He smirks, and you leap to the side. The stinger pierces into the wall. Krauser lets go of the tail, and it dangles from the crevice. He laughs. "This thing didn't stand a chance. If you stop running, I'll make yours quick, too."

You climb over slime-encrusted limbs and scramble to your feet opposite Krauser, nearly slipping in a smear of blood. The mad soldier charges, holding his mutation before him like a shield. He leaps off of the body, extending the blades towards you, and you barely roll out of the way before the mutation slices the air. Krauser sweeps his foot before you get up, and it crashes into your shoulder. The length of your arm burns with pain but you jump to your feet.

Krauser's boot thuds where your head had been, and when you stand up you are face to face with him. His frenzied breathing heats the air between you. Krauser knocks you back with the mutated blade, then thrusts forward. You turn and kick the appendage towards him, then jump up to deliver a kick to his skull. Krauser is dazed and stumbles. You back away, but trip over a sprawled leg of the creature.

Krauser roars. "No one fucks with me. Not anymore. I _will_ have ultimate power. When I finish you I'll kill Wesker, and then I'll find his experiments. I'll find Umbrella's viruses and I will absorb them all!" His mutated arm pulses. "I control Las Plagas. I'll control every virus in existence, and then I will rule this planet!" Krauser laughs. "Don't you see that humanity is spiraling into Hell? Every day we're being eaten alive by our own creations. But I'll put an end to all of it. I will kill every monster on Earth and then humankind will bow to me!" His cold eyes train on you. "And I'll start with you."

Krauser charges. You try to back away but the large body of the creature impedes your motion. As you climb over it, your eyes lock on to the tail embedded in the wall. Krauser's boots pound behind you. You jump over the rest of the corpse and scramble towards the tail. You hear Krauser extend the blades on his arm. You don't look back. You grab the tail with both hands and pull as hard as you can. The curled tip of the stinger hooks onto the concrete. Krauser jumps over the corpse. The stinger scrapes free, and you whirl around to see Krauser nearly on top of you, his blades extended towards your throat.

He stops short. His arm falls to his side. His eyes drop towards his chest. You look down and see the stinger protruding from Krauser's body, your hands still gripping it at its base. You yank it out and blood gushes from a fist-sized hole. Krauser staggers back, his eyes wide, his body trembling. Dark veins sprout from around his heart and spread to his arms and neck. He trips over the creature and falls onto its back, gnashing his teeth, shaking furiously, spitting bloody foam that trickles down his neck. Although Krauser looks up, he does not see you. His skin is ashen and damp with sweat. He stares beyond you and inhales slowly. His body falls still. His lips barely part. "I am…not…weak." A rattling breath pushes from his lungs, and Krauser is silent.

You can't believe any of it. Not that Krauser was still alive. Not that he tried to kill you. Not that you cheated death from a monster. Not that you killed Krauser. And certainly not that your body doesn't react, you desperately want to collapse and cry and not get back up, but your heartbeat regulates and your face is expressionless. Your body ignores the pain ringing in your head, throbbing in your arms and legs, and ignores the blood congealing from the slice on your thigh. Your mindless body disregards building dizziness and a bruised shoulder. Instead your fingers move to Krauser's swollen neck and press lightly. There is no pulse.

You stand and activate the Bluetooth device at your ear. "Krauser has been terminated."

The device cracks with static before you hear that cold voice. "Good. Is the area secure?"

Your eyes scan the corridor. "Yes."

"Excellent. You will report to me for debriefing." You hear something, something other than static—"But first, be sure you did not leave any loose ends." Something wet slithers behind you and slams into the side of your head. You nearly lose consciousness; you collapse on one side and roll to see a long pink tongue whipping out of the mouth of the monster. That bundle of nerves on its neck pulses feebly. Somehow, that thing is still alive. And, with your weakened state, it can still kill you.

You try to get up, but something is different. You feel heavy, drained, and feeble. All of the power that once coursed through your body is gone. You realize with a cold chill that the chemicals have metabolized into your system. It's just you and the monster. And you cannot move.

"Nicole." Wesker's voice is sharp. "Revise your report. Is the area secure?"

You plant your palms on the slick floor and try to get up, but your injured shoulder can't support you. Your legs have no energy left to push you up. The creature's tongue twists in the air, searching for you. You realize that you're lying in a puddle of its own blood. Perhaps it can't taste you behind its own scent. Even so, you could die at any moment. All it needs is to lash out at the right spot, and you're gone.

"Nicole. _Report_."

You cry. You sob through a sore and weakened throat. You cannot move. You can only wait for death. No one can help you. Leon isn't here. You have no hero and you have no strength. Soon enough that creature will find you and kill you.

Tears warm your face, which you find somehow comforting as you lie in a gleaming pool of blood and wait to die. Perhaps it's because you're crying out of choice. You try again to get up, but the tongue wavers threateningly in the air, so you drop down. You still don't have the strength to dodge it. You close your eyes. That you have the strength for. You calm your breathing. You focus on the effort of it, on the sound. Not on the creature. Not on death.

Pain throbs through your body. You wonder how badly you're hurt. You almost wish that the monster would strike you and end it all. You don't know if you can escape otherwise.

You feel yourself drifting into a dreamlike state; the writhing monster is much more muffled than before. The dripping, the wet twisting—it's so much quieter now. As are the distant thuds moving towards you. As are the squeals of pain, the dull crack, and the heavy thump. And your vision is dimming—you can tell when Wesker stands over you and you can't see his eyes behind the sunglasses.

Gently he lifts you. Softly he carries you. In his arms you glide into an elevator and your head lolls against Wesker's chest as he stares down at you. His grip tightens. "Nicole." His muffled voice is urgent. "Do not close your eyes. Look at me." You roll your eyes up to meet Wesker's. "Do not look away." You suppose that he's making sure that you do not die. You are scared that this could happen, and you tell him. But your lips refuse to move properly and blood bubbles between your teeth. Wesker frowns. "Don't talk. Look at me." A chill settles over your limbs. _I don't want to die. Please, please don't let me die…_

This is all Wesker's fault. And yet, he is also your only hope of surviving. You hate him.

The elevator doors open, and bright light invades the elevator, reflecting off of Wesker's sunglasses. Your head feels heavy, and you are tired. So tired. Your eyelids flutter, and Wesker glances down at you. He says something sharply, but you can no longer make out the words. Wesker appears to be so far away. Alarms in the back of your mind tell you that this is very bad, but that feeling is subdued by the sense of sleep that overwhelms you. Pain and fatigue carry you away from your body into the depths of nothingness.

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading. I hope to have the next chapter up soon since the new Resident Evil game will be out. <span>Please review!<span>**


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